The Quiet of the Late Nights
by paynesgrey
Summary: Oliver and Felicity are alone one night. It's nothing unusual, yet Oliver's thoughts always run wild. ANGST. Spoilers for the mid-season finale. Oliver x Felicity. ONESHOT.


Written for fandom-stocking on Dreamwidth. This is the stocking stuffer for Queenmidalah. This is a one-shot and will not be continued.

The Quiet of the Late Nights

The day bled into the late evening, and as Oliver finished his training, he realized that Felicity had stayed late. Looking around, they had been the last two of their team to remain, with Diggle going home to spend time with his family, and Roy taking off to his job in Thea's club,

Nothing was unusual. Felicity and Oliver had been alone together this late before, even after their disastrous date and explosive kiss.

The only thing that was different – each time – was that Oliver's thoughts had run wild while she was here, pressing him to take things further with her and throw caution to the wind. Desire and mutterings of his heart had sang to him in a mantra to take her – to forego all the hesitation and caution and make her completely his.

Each time those thoughts would surface in the quiet of the late nights, he would ignore them. He would push them back and continue on as some celibate monk whose only marriage was to his God. For Oliver, it was his mission, his identity.

He was probably acting foolishly. Barry would probably tell him that, and so would Diggle. But Felicity had a right to move on – to be with someone better. Better than him.

The scream in his head returned. Every time he told himself Felicity should move on, everything in his body resisted against it. Every part of his being wanted to revolt.

He stacked away equipment from his workout, and grabbed a towel to wipe off his perspiration. He wandered back to Felicity's computers, finding her tapping away diligently on some program.

"You should go home. It's late," he said simply.

She made a small noise, and she waved a hand. "I'm helping Cisco and Caitlin with a program that'll improve their search of meta humans. Almost done."

He stared at her, noticing she was wearing her short, blue form-fitting dresses from working at the former Queen Consolidated, now called Palmer Technologies. He felt his blood go hot with jealousy, which made it harder for him to push back his impulsive thoughts. He felt his hand go to a fist at his side. He unclenched his fist when she spun around in her chair and met his eyes.

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, and meant to turn away from her. Instead, he stood in front of her curious gaze, feeling almost naked.

He wished he was, in a way, but he didn't want to make a night like this worse.

He saw her raise an eyebrow. "Ooookay," she said, drawing out the word. She spun around and continued working on her program. Oliver knew she wasn't stupid. She must know he was still staring at her.

It would be so easy, he thought, to pull her from that chair and back her up against that desk. It would be quick and fluid, in one motion, to cage her against that desk, trace his fingers down her arms and then over her breasts, up to the dip of her dress's collar. In one violent motion, he could rip through that dress – effortlessly – delighting in the echo the torn material would make within the quiet walls of this basement. He would hear her gasp, quieting her with his lips hungry over hers. She could put her hands anywhere she wanted; he'd encourage it, and then he'd pull her close, her legs folding around him. He'd sooner remove the rest of her underclothes, exposing her, exposing himself, and then quickly and perfectly, tease her, taste her and lead himself inside, coming home.

He could do it all_ now_ – as much as he wanted, taking and taking – satiating all desires and quieting all primal demands.

Oliver knew he could do it all, and she would let him. She would want him too.

He realized he'd been staring too long, indulging into the hazy thrill of his thoughts. Every muscle in his body tensed, pulling him forward – becoming a pressure on his brain and on his heart.

Oliver heard her move in the chair, the squeaky noise bringing him out of his thoughts like a loud pin dropping on the concrete. He stared over at her, and she was looking over her shoulder, staring at the ground, but well aware of his eyes on her.

He turned around, ready to head to bed. She moved in her chair again, but she said nothing. He could feel her eyes on him this time.

"I'm done. I should go," she said.

He was screaming in his head._ Stop her,_ he commanded himself._ Don't let her go._

"Yes. Goodnight, Felicity," he said, always loving the way her name formed in his mouth, like a fine wine or sweet chocolate. She moved in her chair again. He could hear systems powering down. She picked up her things. Oliver turned around, and their eyes met.

He tried to relax his fist, but he couldn't. He moved forward before she could take a step from her chair.

Only a few steps more and he could trap her. He could keep her here. But had he hurt her enough? Would she reject him?

He hesitated.

She stepped forward, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Wait, Felicity."

She looked up at him. It was his chance. This was his opening.

"Yes?" she asked, her eyes having expectations that he couldn't grant. He'd give her the moon, anything more, and he'd surely give her this. But... he couldn't. The beast had been quelled again, chained mercilessly within his own misery.

"Be careful," he said, and her look appeared as flat as his tone had sounded. Disappointment and aggravation crawled over him like spiders and plunged him into shame. Felicity nodded, and he heard her quick footsteps ascend to the upper floor.

When she was gone, his agony settled in his stomach as hardening cement. He sighed heavily, and headed back to his bed – the one she had bought him.

If he continued to feel anything tonight – loneliness, regret or shame – Oliver had no one to blame but himself.

END


End file.
